


softer

by mywordsflyup



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Adorable Pajamas, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Awkward Tension, F/M, Hotels, Modern Thedas, Pre-Relationship, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-03
Updated: 2016-03-03
Packaged: 2018-05-24 14:17:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,934
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6156301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mywordsflyup/pseuds/mywordsflyup
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's only one hotel room available. With only one bed. Cullen is distraught.</p>
            </blockquote>





	softer

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Byacolate](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Byacolate/gifts).



> For the tumblr prompt "things you said at 1 am".

“Let me go down to reception again. There has to be a different solution.” 

 

Lavellan sighs. “Don’t bother. There’s no point. They’re fully booked.” She drops her bag the foot of the bed.  _ The _ bed. Singular. As in, the only one in the room.

 

Cullen groans, embarrassment coiling in his stomach like a snake. “There’s another inn just a few miles from here. I could call them and ask if they have a free room for the night.” 

 

“Cullen.” She uses what he secretly calls her _final voice_. Reserved for particularly stubborn diplomats, Chantry sisters and anyone who addresses her before her first coffee. Also for him sometimes. “It’s past midnight and it’s been a very long day. I’m tired. Let’s just…” She makes a vague gesture in the direction of the bed. “Make the best of it.” She opens her bag and pulls out some clothes.

 

“I could sleep on the floor?” One last attempt that she doesn’t even deign with more than an eyeroll before she vanishes into the bathroom, letting the door fall shut behind her with a little bit more force than necessary. 

 

He flinches. In her absence he dares to walk around the bed, assessing just how much of a catastrophe he’s really dealing with. It could be worse. The bed is of a decent size at least - large enough for two grown people to sleep in without touching. Which is the important part here. He’s also fairly certain that it’s not strictly his fault. He wasn’t the one who was tasked with booking the rooms for the conference. Surely some poor Inquisition intern will get in trouble for that mistake. But still, he can’t shake the feeling of dread that has settled in his chest like an unwelcome guest.  

 

He’s been against coming to Redcliffe from the start. And every stone in their path leading here has been nothing but confirmation for him just how much of a mistake this whole thing really is. And this… Just a final drop into a barrel that’s been filling up for far too long. 

 

He knows exactly how much his disapproval disappointed her. Or more than that perhaps. Ever since he first voiced his misgivings, it’s as if something has been severed between them. Something soft and fragile and unnamed that leaves nothing but distance in its absence. 

 

Of course he was outvoted in the end. By Josephine and her sympathy. By Leliana and her iron loyalty. And by Lavellan and her quiet fury, smoldering in her chest since the moment the mages asked for their help. There was no reasoning with her and he told her as much - just to watch her pull back from him. 

 

The drive here has been mostly silence. 

 

He sighs and sits down on the edge of the mattress. The room is just as one would expect it from a small hotel in rural Ferelden. Cozy, with a lot of dark wood and far too much dog imagery. He counts five of them just from where he’s sitting - including a ceramic one on the nightstand and two in an old oil painting over the dresser. It reminds him a little of his grandmother’s flat back in Honnleath - a memory that stings as much as it soothes. 

 

The door to the bathroom opens and Cullen’s thoughts stutter to a hold. 

 

He can’t remember the last time he saw someone above the age of six wear a full set of button down pajamas. Let alone a set of button down pajamas in Warden blue. Covered in little griffins. 

 

“One word... “ Lavellan lets the threat hang in the air and her scowl do the rest. 

 

Cullen bites the inside of his cheek. It’s not so much that he wants to laugh. He just can’t wrap his head around it. The thought of Lavellan out of her clothes is a dangerous one - best to be avoided at all times. But Lavellan in pajamas is… something else altogether. 

 

She frowns and pads over to the other side of the bed. Her feet are bare and the hem of her trousers turned-up. The pajamas are at least two sizes too big for her, he realizes - the sleeves brushing the tips of her fingers before she pushes them back with an irritated noise. 

 

“They were a gift,” she says when he stays silent. “From my brother.” 

 

“Oh.” 

 

She stops at the edge of the bed, her hand grabbing a pillow and her ears twitching. “He… likes to joke.” 

 

“They look nice,” he says. Mostly because it’s the most acceptable thing that comes to mind. And far better than the truth. That they look soft and warm. And that they make her edges look a little less sharp. A little softer perhaps. A little warmer. 

 

He really needs to stop. 

 

She turns her head at the sudden movement of him getting up but doesn’t say anything until he motions towards the bathroom. “I’m done in there,” she says and starts pulling the covers off the bed. 

 

Cullen grabs his bag on the way to the bathroom and once the door is closed, he leans against it with a little sigh of relief. Just a moment to clear his head. 

 

He’s glad the actually bothered to pack both sweatpants and an old shirt to wear to bed despite the warm temperatures. It’s only when he puts them on that he realizes that it’s one from his time in Kirkwall, the faded image of a flaming sword suddenly all too clear on his chest. It’s insensitive, even if Lavellan is the only one to see him in it. But not wearing a shirt at all seems even worse. 

One of each faction. That has been the Inquisition's policy from the start. Leading by example. Even if it means sending an ex-Templar to a mage conference. They’re supposed to be living proof that cooperation is possible. Cullen isn’t sure if it’s not just going to make them seem like tone-deaf assholes. Lavellan has been in agreement with him on that at least. In the end, they’ve both been outvoted. 

 

When he gets out of the bathroom, Lavellan is already in bed, balancing a notepad on her knees and furiously tapping her pen against it as she reads. She looks up for a second when he comes in but if she notices the Templar emblem she doesn’t let it show. 

 

With someone as small as Lavellan, the bed seems even bigger than before. Cullen still hesitates before getting under the covers and only another scowl from Lavellan motivates him to move at all in the end. There are far too many ruffled pillows piled up against the headboard and he uses them to build up a cushion wall in the middle of the bed, as subtle as possible. 

 

“What are you doing?” 

 

Not subtle enough. 

 

“I just thought -” 

 

She takes a pillow and tosses it on the floor. “There’s not enough room as it is. Just… go to sleep.” She puts her notepad down on the nightstand and turns off the light. 

 

She doesn’t tear down his construction completely but leaves him with something closer to a dike than a wall. It still makes him feel a little better, even though he can’t quite explain why. 

 

In the darkness, she’s very close to him. The soft sound of her breathing loud in his ear, the scent of her perfume the only familiar thing in this strange bed. If he were to reach over the pillows he could touch her and the thought makes his chest feel tight and his cheeks burn. 

 

He doesn’t dare to move.

 

She doesn’t stop. 

 

“Are you alright?” he asks tentatively after she turns over for the sixth time, the mattress rocking with every movement. 

 

“Yes.” It’s not her  _ final voice _ . But it’s close. 

 

“You’re not sleeping,” he observes, bold under the cover of darkness. 

 

“Neither are you.” 

 

He closes his eyes. “Right.” 

 

For a while, there’s nothing, not even the sound of her tossing and turning, and he thinks she might have fallen asleep after all. Then, her voice not as firm as he’s used to, “I’m not prepared for tomorrow.”  

 

He can’t help the little laugh that comes out of his mouth. “Nonsense. You’ve done nothing but prepare on the drive here.” He suspected it had been mostly to avoid talking to him. But perhaps she was just nervous. 

 

“It’s not enough. It’s…” She sighs. “Perhaps we made a mistake coming here.” 

 

He turns his head towards her even though he can’t see her behind the pillow between them. It’s dangerous, like prodding a hardly healed wound, knowing full well that it might start to bleed again. “What would you have preferred? Going to the templars first?” 

 

She huffs and he can feel her turning again. “No. I don’t… I don’t know. I don’t want to have to go to anyone. I want them to come to us. Actually try to resolve this without us having to  _ convince _ them.” 

 

“Because that’s likely.” 

 

Her laughter comes so unexpected he actually jumps a little bit. “You never know…” He can hear her settling, the sheets rustling softly next to him, followed by a small sigh. “We should’ve send someone else.” 

 

“I know. My presence here -”

 

“No. I’m not talking about you.” There is a sudden movement and the pillow next to Cullen’s head is pulled away. “I’m talking about me.” 

 

It’s too dark to make out the expression on her face but her eyes are reflecting what little moonlight comes through the curtains so he knows she’s looking at him, waiting for his reaction. “What do you mean?” 

 

She sighs once more and turns her head until all he can see is her profile. “I’ve read Leliana’s reports. They don’t like that I’m not a Circle mage. That I’m Dalish.” There’s a sliver of white as she sinks her teeth into her bottom lip. “They think I’m diluting their cause.” 

 

Cullen can’t stop the incredulous noise that escapes him. “What does that even mean?” 

 

This time, her laughter is softer and doesn’t catch him by surprise quite as much. “I don’t know.” She covers her face with one hand. 

 

“It’s not fair,” he says because all other words seem too much. 

 

“No, it’s not. But that doesn’t change the fact that they deserve help. Perhaps someone else would’ve been better for this presentation. Someone with the same experiences as them.”

 

Cullen turns on his side to face her, one hand on the pillows between them. “You care about them.”

 

“Of course I do. You don’t?” 

 

He’s glad she can’t see him flinch in the dark. “I do. Just… It’s a little bit more complicated than that.”

 

Her hand falls from her face and lands next to his with a low thump, her fingers brushing against this palm. "I know."

 

Breathing is difficult when he’s trying not to move - painfully aware of every inch of his body. One wrong move and he’ll shatter it, the fragile thing bridging the distance between them. 

 

“It’ll be alright,” he says. 

 

“Yes." She takes a deep breath. "It has to be.” 

 

Perhaps it’s the darkness that makes him brave. Or the late hour. Or the sleep that’s slowly creeping in. But he moves his hand, just a little bit. Nudges hers with his thumb. He can feel her stiffen and thinks he hears her breath hitch, and for a second he thinks he messed it all up. That she’s going to pull away completely. 

 

Instead, her hand slides into his palm, her fingers finding their place between his.

**Author's Note:**

> You can also follow my [tumblr](http://damnable-rogue.tumblr.com) if you're interested.


End file.
